


The last night, (just like last night)

by GhostOfDorothyStreet



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drug Use, Ed needs help, M/M, Masturbation, Sadness, episode 3.15, hallucination oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/pseuds/GhostOfDorothyStreet
Summary: The pills are just one of Ed's new bad habits...





	The last night, (just like last night)

Ed frowned as he counted the pills in his gilded pill box. The number had reduced at a far greater rate than he had originally intended – not enough to be a significant worry, but enough to give him pause – and he drummed his fingers against the cool porcelain of the sink in a mild anxious gesture.

Over use of the pills might have unforeseen consequences. Permanent brain or liver damage, memory loss, reduced effectiveness (and why was that the most troubling notion), dependency or a chemical level…

But he still needed them. Needed what they brought him. He still hadn’t reached his goal, and doing so unaided was as of yet unthinkable. He would need to be more careful, ration them more carefully. The last thing he wanted was to find himself in need of an unscheduled refill.

He gave himself a stern look in the bathroom mirror. This was going to be the last time he engaged in this particular indulgence. Just one more time to help him relax and feel refreshed. He needed the release of tension if he was going to continue his search

He’d said that last night too.

Entering the bedroom, he lay back on the bed, on top of the thick, richly embroidered blankets and propped up against the pillows. Glasses off, pill box open on the nightstand next to him. There was an order to these things, and the pill was the last step. He tugged down the waistband of his pyjama pants, not too far, just enough to expose his cock – only semi erect in anticipation for now, but that would change.

Lubrication from a dispenser bottle into his right hand, two pumps.

A single pill in his left hand.

Deep breath.

A crunch of teeth and the chalky bitterness of the pill dissolved against his tongue, and it wasn’t not long before the effect took hold – a sharpness at the edges of the world, light and shadow more intense and everything both more and less real at once.

"Again Ed, really?"

Something clenched low in his gut at the sight of Oswald standing in the doorway of the bedroom. An emotion he couldn’t bring himself to analyse. It was the most standard form of the apparition of his departed friend; skin and clothes soaked and covered in weed and algae, lips tinged blue with the icy cold of Gotham River. And an expression like he was about to deliver a tirade against every personal choice Ed had ever made.

Oswald folded his arms with a wet squelch.

"This isn’t healthy you realise. Even by your standards."

Ed groaned, wrapping his hand around his length.

"Shut up, I don’t want advice right now."

Oswald’s expression softened a fraction, still carrying a judgemental edge, but more sympathetic now.

"I know you don’t." Oswald was no longer at the foot of the bed but rather on it; clean and dry and kneeling over Ed’s prone form, with no transition between the two states. "I know exactly what it is you want."

Ed bit down on the inside of his own lip as the hand wrapped around his cock became Oswald’s hand, grip warm and firm, coaxing Ed to near painful hardness. A blink and Oswald’s face was scant millimetres from Ed’s, though no breath ghosted over his lips as the apparition spoke.

"I always know what you want."

Another blink and Oswald’s lips were pressed to Ed’s, tingling pressure and the phantom smell of cologne. Ed brought his hand to the back of Oswald’s neck, fingers against bare skin, Oswald’s clothes having disappeared without either one of them making any move to remove them.

Ed could feel heat rising in him, seeming to radiate through the fabric of his pyjamas from Oswald’s smooth, bare skin as they moved against each other, Oswald straddling Ed’s lap and pushing him back against the softness of the pillows. A twist of Oswald’s slick hand and a flick of his wrist had Ed gasping, his own hand tightening at the nape of Oswald’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss – fiercer, with grazing teeth.

Oswald grinned against Ed’s lips, and shifted in his lap, hips rolling against him. Both his hands gripped Ed’s shoulders, strong fingers digging through the soft cotton of his pyjamas as he sank down onto Ed’s cock, drawing a wanton groan from Ed’s lips as their movements became more frantic.

"Every night, Ed," said Oswald, eyes glinting "Every night you keep coming back to this, and we both know why."

Ed could feel a crackle of electricity building from the base of his spine, sweat beading on his forehead and between his shoulder blades as he bucked his hips up into Oswald’s body.

"I love you, Ed," Oswald’s voice was a whisper that drowned out all other sounds, against his ear and inside his head, "And you know that no one will ever love you or know you as truly and as well as I do. No one."

That soft voice brought the spark in Eds blood into a bright and burning current, and Ed’s eyes squeezed shut as he came, Oswald’s name on is lips and a tear trickling hotly from each eye. A moment of perfection, conscious thought wiped clean, lost in the moment and the arms of the only person who had ever really understood him…

But just a moment.

When Ed opened his eyes, Oswald was gone. He alone lay sprawled against the pillows of the bed, his own hand wrapped loosely around his cock, slick with lube and sticky with come.

His muscles felt relaxed, his blood stream flush with endorphins, but his mind was still in turmoil. Left alone without the strange comfort of his imaginary companion he felt hollow, weirdly exposed despite the privacy of the empty manor, and above all else achingly lonely.

He scrubbed at his face with his clean hand, an impotent growl of frustration bubbling up in his throat and breaking free as a half choked sob. He cleaned himself off with some wet wipes from the drawer of the nightstand, and wriggled under the covers, burying his face into a pillow that smelled faintly of his own sweat and desperation. Eyes closed, but sleep evading him.

Maybe just one more night.

One more night, and he would be done.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a ficlet based on my own text post, I've become 'that guy'. Also some day I will write porn that isn't kind of sad, I swear.


End file.
